


Brimstone and Mistletoe

by ThatRavenclawBitch



Series: 25 Days of Ficlets [8]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 25 Days of Ficlets, F/M, Holidays, holiday fic, priest Gold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-17 02:09:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16965729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatRavenclawBitch/pseuds/ThatRavenclawBitch
Summary: From my 25 Days of Ficlets prompts on tumblr. The prompt was “It’s snowing!” and "Oh, hey, mistletoe!”.Father Gold has an inappropriate crush on one of his parishioners. But maybe his feelings aren't as unrequited as he thinks.





	1. Chapter 1

It was Christmas Eve and Father Gold was going to hell. Or quite possibly he was already there.

It had been twenty years since he’d taken his vows and he’d not regretted it once in the interim. The church had given him purpose. It had given him peace. His congregation was his family and he had no need of one in the traditional sense. He had never once been tempted to forsake them.

Until her.

Belle French had arrived in his parish three months ago. She had been nothing but lovely and helpful in that time. She volunteered for everything, heading up bake sales, teaching Sunday school classes, and even staying after mass to help clean up the small nave of the church.

It was for that reason that Father Gold currently found himself damned. He was alone with Belle French and that was a recipe for disaster if ever he’d heard of one.

The midnight mass service had ended fifteen minutes ago, midnight in name only. Mass was actually held at 7:00 so the good people of the sleepy small town of Storybrooke could get home to their Christmas Eve dinners and get their children tucked up in bed so the adults could play Santa. It was only 8:15 but it was pitch dark outside and bitterly cold to boot. The old church was drafty and with the lack of bodies crammed in to the small space for mass he was left feeling chilled to the bone. A chill that could be oh so pleasantly remedied by Belle French.

Gold pinched himself for that, a dig of his nails against the palm of his other hand in penance for his thoughts.

Taking a vow of celibacy when he was twenty-seven had seemed like no big deal. He’d never seen himself as a particularly sexual being. He’d had a few relationships prior to joining the priesthood, nothing edifying in any way, and was almost glad to shut the door on that part of his life. Romance had done nothing for him and he wouldn’t miss it.

But now his every waking thought, and his non-waking ones as well, were consumed with what it would be like to touch her, to hold her, to kiss those sweet lips so pink and plump. It was driving him mad and he was surely damned.

The worst part was she had no idea her effect on him. She was kind and sweet and looked to him as a trusted friend, a mentor, and a spiritual advisor. If she ever had an inkling of the thoughts he harbored about her she would despise him and rightly so.

Belle was weaving her way through the pews, her black wool coat hanging open and showing off the sweet little red A-line dress she wore beneath it. There were little gold sparkles in the fabric that caught the light as she turned this way and that, picking up forgotten programs to be recycled. Her hair was pulled back from her face with a gold clip, shining bright against her chestnut curls and her every movement was marked by the sound of jingle bells, the result of the festive bracelet she wore on her left wrist. Thick black tights preserved her modesty beneath her short dress and only enhanced the lean length of her perfect legs. Finally she wore a pair of impossibly tall golden heels, even more sparkles coming from them as she made her way down the aisle of the nave to retrieve a basket from the back of the church.

Every inch of her was perfect, shining and sparkling and good.

Belle wandered up the aisle, picking up a few last candlesticks from the candlelit service. She placed them in the wicker basket in her arms and then turned back to Gold. He’d been watching her again, he realized, and he quickly looked away.

“I think that’s the last of it,” she said, handing the basket to Gold. Her fingers brushed against his and Gold jumped, nearly upending the basket.

“Are you alright?” Belle asked, placing a steadying hand on his arm, her jingle bells tinkling merrily with the motion. It only served to make him more distracted.

“Yes, fine,” he said bracingly. He turned away from her, bringing the candles to the altar and dropping them there.

“Um, okay,” Belle said, a little sadly. He hated that he couldn’t act normally around her. He hated that they could no longer be friends thanks to his own perversion. “Well I guess I’ll head out then. Merry Christmas, Father.”

“Merry Christmas, Belle,” he said, giving her a tight smile.

He turned back to the altar, busying himself with collecting the remnants of the communion service. He could hear Belle’s heels clacking against the hardwood floor and the scrape of the doors to the church. Then there was an unexpected gasp.

He swiveled at his place before the altar, expecting to see Belle in some peril, but she was just standing there, framed by the open church doors and the night beyond.

“It’s snowing!” she squealed, turning to look at him, her face alight with excitement.

Gold nodded, seeing the fat flakes falling on the church steps beyond Belle.

“So it is.”

Belle turned back to the open doors, wrapping her coat more firmly around herself as the cold wind swept through the church, making the candles on the altar flicker.

“I’ve never had a white Christmas before,” she said, looking out wonderingly at the snow. It was falling hard. They’d probably wake to a foot of the stuff. “Not really an issue in Australia, you know?”

Without realizing it, Gold had walked toward her. He was halfway up the aisle between the pews before he noticed he had moved at all. Belle entranced him, drew him in. He was completely in her thrall.

“I suppose it’s not,” he said dumbly, coming to stand next to her.

Belle looked up at him with a wide smile, the kind he could get absolutely lost in.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked, looking back at the falling snow. Gold could do nothing but nod, watching her profile rather than the precipitation.

Belle let out a soft sigh as she headed out the doors.

“Well, goodnight!”

She was two steps down when she slipped, her heel sliding against the icy stairs. Gold wasn’t sure what super powered speed came over him, but in a split second he was beside her, catching her neatly in his arms before she could topple down the stairs. Belle’s arms went around his neck, her chest pressed against his. It was the closest he’d ever been to her and he couldn’t seem to let go. Despite the cold and the snowflakes landing on the back of his neck, he’d never felt warmer.

He gazed down into Belle’s blue eyes, more salvation found in their depths than in any holy book he’d ever read.

He should put her down, his mind screamed. He should make sure her feet are under her and the back away and never touch her again. But he just stood there, his arms wrapped around her waist, his face mere inches from hers, as they stared at each other. The moment seemed to stretch, lasting forever when it was simply a second or two. He wanted to commit it to memory, to remember how she felt in his arms, to never forget the feel of her pressed against him.

Belle’s arms tightened around his neck, bringing his face even closer down to hers.

“Oh hey,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper and her eyes never leaving his. “Mistletoe.”

Gold’s brows drew together in confusion even as he glanced up above them. There was nothing there but the slight awning of the church, completely bare of mistletoe.

“No there’s….”

“I don’t care,” Belle cut him off.

And then her lips were on his, stopping any further protest and short circuiting his brain.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This should help to warm your hands up”

Father Gold was frozen.

Not because of the snow falling, dusting the shoulders of his black jacket and freezing to the back of his exposed neck. No he barely felt the cold despite being dressed in nothing but his shirtsleeves and blazer. He was frozen because Belle French was kissing him.

He realized, belatedly, that when someone kissed you it was customary to kiss back. Belle’s lips were heavenly, pillow soft and warm, everything he had always imagined them to be. But for some reason he couldn’t kiss her back, his hands still gripping her waist and his lips maddeningly still.

Belle pulled back a moment later, a horrified look on her face.

“Oh, God!” she gasped before slapping a hand against her mouth. “I mean, not oh God. Oh Christ. Fuck!”

She spun around, nearly slipping down the steps again in her impractical heels, seemingly wanting to put as much distance between herself and Gold as possible.

Suddenly Gold’s brain seemed to catch back up to him. Belle was leaving, running away, because she thought she’d made a terrible mistake.

“Wait,” he called after her, rushing down the steps to the street, the snow crunching beneath his feet.

Belle wheeled around, tears in her eyes, clinging to her dark lashes and spilling over her cheeks. She should never cry. He hated to think he’d been the cause of her tears now.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she spat out in a rush, swiping at her tears with trembling hands. “I don’t know what came over me. It was totally inappropriate and I’m absolutely mortified.”

“N-N-No,” he stuttered out with a shake of his head.

“I mean what must you think of me now?” she continued. “Coming on to a priest? What’s wrong with me? I mean I haven’t been laid in three years but that’s hardly an excuse to assault a poor unsuspecting man of the cloth.”

Gold’s eyes widened at that revelation and Belle clapped a hand over her mouth again.

“Oh God! I can’t believe I just said that! And now I’ve taken the Lord’s name in vain again.”

Gold chanced a step toward her. 

"Strictly speaking, taking the Lord’s name in vain means invoking God’s name for causes of evil. For example, killing in His name. A declaration of surprise or emotion is hardly damning."

No a simple utterance of God's name wouldn't damn Belle. He couldn't imagine anything that could. But his forsaking his vows for the pleasures of the flesh, that would certainly damn his soul. 

“Oh,” Belle said with a nod. “Good.”

“And if it’s any consolation it’s been much longer than three years for me,” he said with a crooked smile, his voice low.

Belle huffed out a little laugh, shaking her head, and the anxious knot in Gold’s chest loosened ever so slightly. Belle was smiling, so all was right with the world despite the storm of emotion within his own breast.

“Belle, please,” he pleaded. “Come back inside. You can’t walk home in this.”

She was shivering beneath her coat, her knees knocking together with cold. The snow was catching in her dark hair, glistening ice crystals that looked like glitter raining down on her. She had no hat, no scarf, not even gloves. She was woefully underdressed for a blizzard.

‘Okay,” she agreed with a sniff.

She followed him back up the steps into the church, and he closed the heavy wooden doors behind them, sealing them away inside. Alone. Together. During a snow storm. 

Gold shook his head. They were only lucky that the holiday and the weather had kept everyone indoors and no one had witnessed their little indiscretion on the steps of the church. He’d hate for Belle to face any retribution from the townspeople. They could be notoriously close-minded.

When he turned back to Belle she was shivering violently, her teeth chattering audibly. He rushed to her side, forgetting for a moment his promise to keep his distance, and reached for her.

“Your hands are like ice,” he said, taking them between his own and trying to work warmth back in to them. He relished how small and delicate they were between his own large, calloused hands. He had workman’s hands, no matter that his line of work didn’t include a lot of manual labor. He was from hardy Scottish stock and it showed on him despite the life he’d chosen.

“What about you?” she asked. “You’re not even wearing a coat.”

Gold shrugged. “Oh, I’m used to the cold.”

It was the truth. He’d lived in cold climates all his life, the rocky coast of Maine not so different from where he’d grown up. And he’d had no warmth in his life in a long, long time. His nights were cold, his bed was cold, his life was barren.

But Belle wasn’t. She was sunshine and warmth. She put sunlight to shame with her smile. She was radiant. How had she come to this cold New England town? Why had he never asked?

“Why are you here?” he blurted out. Belle’s nose wrinkled up in confusion and he realized she clearly hadn’t followed his train of thought. Gold shook his head.

“I mean in Maine,” he clarified. “What brought you all the way out here? Why leave warmth and sun for cold and wet?”

“Oh,” Belle said, her hands tensing in his own. “Change of scenery I guess? I wanted to be as far away from home as possible and this seemed like as good a place as any. I saw the job posting for the librarian position online and the next thing I knew I’d blown all my savings on a plane ticket here.”

It wasn’t his place to press her with further questions. He well knew the desire to escape one’s past. It’s what had brought him to the States so many years ago. So instead he just nodded. 

"Well I'm glad you found your way here," he said with a smile. He realized he was still holding her hands and he dropped them, quickly stepping away. Belle gave a soft little sigh going to sit on one of the pews at the front of the church, furthest from the drafty front doors. The lights on the altar were still lit, bathing her upturned face in candlelight as she stared up at the crucifix hung behind it. 

"I suppose we're stuck here for a bit," she said, thumbing over her shoulder at the snow piling up outside. "It looks like we'll be snowed in." 

He nodded, the full weight of her words landing heavily on his shoulders. He was snowed in with Belle French. Overnight. On Christmas. 

"I'll make some tea," he said, his voice a little too loud in small sanctuary. Belle looked up at him with those wide, blue eyes, and he turned, nearly running to the hallway at the head of the church that led to the congregation hall and the small kitchen beyond. It was a matter of moments to put the kettle on and he busied himself collecting tea bags and mugs. It was good to have something to do with his hands, something other than touch Belle French. He needed to think about anything other than that. 

The minutes passed too quickly and soon he had a tea tray at the ready, two mugs and a tin of biscuits he'd found in the pantry. He carried it back to the sanctuary, halfway expecting Belle to be long gone, the doors of the church thrown open and snow drifts piling up in the entry hall. She was still sitting there though, exactly as he'd left her, looking up at Jesus hung on the cross with an inscrutable look on her face. She looked small, huddled in her coat on the empty pew. She was precious and good and he would do nothing but taint her with the darkness that seemed to have taken root in him ever since he met her. Or perhaps that darkness had always been there. Perhaps it's what had driven him to the arms of the church in the first place.

"This should help to warm your hands up," he said, setting the tray down on the pew next to Belle and handing her one of the mugs. She took it gratefully, cupping the warm mug between her hands and blowing on the steam rising from the tea.

"Thank you," she said with a half smile. 

They sat in silence for a moment, each sipping their tea. After a moment, Gold popped open the tin of biscuits, offering Belle one.

"It's hardly Christmas dinner, but it's something," he said. 

Belle snorted, taking a cookie and nibbling on it unenthusiastically. "It's not like I had any big dinner plans in any case. This is actually a lot nicer than going home alone. Even if I did manage to make things awkward between us."

She placed a hand on Gold's and he startled, nearly upending his tea in his lap. 

"Sorry," she moaned. “I really don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight. I guess the prospect of spending my first Christmas alone has just rattled me a bit.”

“It’s fine,” he said, setting his mug down safely on the pew. “I know you didn’t mean anything by that kiss.”

It was silly to think even for a split second that Belle could reciprocate his feelings. Even if he hadn’t been a priest. If he were merely a tailor or a banker or a pawnbroker he still wouldn’t stand a chance with someone like Belle. It was best to nip those ideas in the bud, no matter that the feel of her lips against his would be something that would haunt him all the rest of his days.

It did no good to dwell on things you could never have. 

“No, I…” Belle trailed off, shutting her eyes for a moment. When she opened them her gaze was direct, penetrating. He felt like every secret of his soul was laid bare to her.

“Why did you have to be a priest?” she asked.

He wasn’t sure if anyone had ever asked him that before and he struggled to come up with a concise answer.

“Well, my aunts who raised me were devoutly Catholic,” he began. “When my Aunt Imelda passed…”

“No,” Belle interrupted with a weary little laugh. “I…I didn’t mean why did you become a priest. I meant why did I meet my perfect man and he’s already taken by a church.”

“What?” he exclaimed. For the second time that evening he’d been rendered completely upended by Belle French. First she kissed him, now she was saying that if he hadn’t been a priest there could have been something between them? She couldn’t possibly mean that.

“Wow,” she said, shaking her head. “I must have really had too much of that communion wine. But if you can't be honest with your priest, who can you, right?”

Gold just sat there, dumbly. 

"You think I'm the perfect man?" he said flatly. 

Belle snorted, burying her face in her hands. 

"I think I've liked you for months," she said, her voice muffled by her hands. "Because I'm stupid and silly and I've let an inappropriate crush run away with me."

She sat up, looking at him a little helplessly. "Didn't you wonder why I volunteered for so much at the church? I thought for sure you'd figured me out."

Gold shook his head. "I thought you were being helpful."

Belle laughed again. "I'm not even that religious, honestly." 

"Oh."

"Clearly," Belle continued. "Or I wouldn't be sitting here admitting my feelings to my priest." 

"I, um, I don't mind," he said. His heart was hammering in his chest. He wasn't sure what to do with this information. If his feelings were reciprocated did it make any lick of difference? He still wasn't free to do as he wished. 

"Oh," Belle said, understanding dawning in her eyes. "This must happen to you a lot, huh?" 

"Why would you say that?"

"Because," Belle said with a shrug. "You're handsome and unattainable, but at the same time women feel comfortable around you, safe. I'm sure I can't be the only woman who thinks so." 

Gold just shook his head, disbelievingly. 

"I'm fairly certain you're the only person on Earth to ever call me handsome."

 

"I don't believe that," she said before standing and walking up to the altar, bracing her hands against it. 

"Do you think I'm wicked for all my sinful thoughts then?" she asked without turning back. "That I think about you that way?" 

"No," he said, following her up to the altar even though he knew he shouldn't. He could feel something in the air, some static electricity between them, becoming more and more charged. It was bound to give way at some point, to arc out violently and strike them both down. But he couldn't resist her pull even still. 

Belle turned, her back to the altar and her front only inches from Gold. She was nearly pinned there, her eyes blown wide, pink lips parted in a startled 'oh'. A lock of her chestnut hair had escaped its gold clip, tumbling down the side of her cheek. She was sacred and profane together at once. Or no, she was just a woman, beautiful by blessing of birth. She'd done nothing wrong. He was the profane one. This was his sin and he'd bear it alone. 

“There haven’t been a lot of good things in my life,” he said haltingly. “This church, it’s been the one constant. Until I met you. You can think about me any way you like. Rest easy knowing I'm the truly wicked one for wanting you.”

He couldn't help himself. He reached out to push that lock of hair back behind her ear, letting his hand linger on her soft tresses, curling about his fingers like spun silk. 

She was watching him, her eyes tracing his face and he saw the moment she came to a decision, determination coloring her features.

She leaned forward, ever so slowly and kissed him again, tentatively this time, as though he might run at any moment. Gold didn't let the opportunity pass him once again. He buried one hand in Belle's hair, the other at her waist, and pulled her more firmly against him. It had been decades since he'd kissed anyone and he was a little awkward at first, but they soon found their rhythm, Belle's head cocking to the side to let him deepen the kiss. Her mouth opened up to him and he slipped his tongue in, brushing along hers. Belle let out a heady little moan that sent a thrill right down his spine, settling heavily in his balls. He could feel himself hardening in his trousers, poking Belle in the hip where she was pressed against him. He should be embarrassed. He'd never been anything but embarrassed of his own body. But instead he just pulled her closer.

He let his hands wander, skimming over the sides of her coat and Belle stepped back for a moment, letting it slip from her shoulders to the floor in a crumpled heap. She was left in that sweet, short little red dress, her arms bare but for the little cap sleeves and he had to touch her skin, feel if it was as soft as he'd always imagined. He trailed his hands down her arms, gooseflesh erupting in his wake. Her pale skin was softer than his wildest dreams and he wanted to taste it as well. He pulled his lips away from hers with effort, kissing across her jaw and down her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her. Roses he thought, like a garden in summer. 

His hand stole under her skirt, skimming up the side of her thigh and hitching it up around his waist as he ground against her, pressing her back against the altar. Belle's head fell back, a stuttered moan coming from her perfect lips and he chased it, capturing it in his own mouth as he kissed her again. 

He wasn't sure what devil had come over him, what was guiding his motions, as he pulled at the waist band of her tights. Belle just shimmied out of them, kicking her shoes off halfway down the aisle. Suddenly she was several inches shorter than him, downright tiny, the top of her head barely reaching his chin. Without a thought he scooped her up, depositing her right on the altar. The communion tray fell to the ground with a clatter, but they both ignored it, clearly possessed by something else entirely. 

He kissed her again, his rough hands cradling her precious jaw as he devoured her with lips and tongue and teeth. She paid him back in equal kind, sinking her teeth into his bottom lip as he let out a feral noise unlike anything he'd ever heard from his own mouth. 

His hands continued to wander, from the soft skin of her thighs, up over her dress to cup her breasts. She pushed herself more firmly into his hands and he wished he could rip the dress from her, tip her back and take her here and now. He couldn't believe such a thought had entered his head, to have her here in the nave of his church, where he stood every Sunday to deliver Mass. It was blasphemy itself.  

"Touch me," she pleaded, grabbing him by the wrist. She brought his hand up under her skirt again, cupping her most intimate of places. "Please, touch me." 

Gold nodded, kissing her forehead before running his fingers over the thin fabric of her underwear. Belle gave a delicious shiver beneath him, her panties completely sodden. He marveled that he had been the cause of it, of any of this. But if Belle wanted him, he wouldn't, couldn't, say no. 

His finger dipped beneath the gusset of her underwear, pushing it to the side, until there was no barrier between him and her molten heat. He let out a groan at the feel of her, his head falling against her shoulder. Belle's hands gripped his upper arms, her whole body tense. 

"More," she gasped. 

Gold pushed one finger inside of her, imagining another part of himself doing the same. It was almost too much to contemplate, too much bliss. He rubbed himself against her thigh, just to take the edge off.

He added another finger, pumping in and out of her slowly and Belle cried out, gripping his forearm almost painfully. He realized, after a second, that she was directing him, showing him where to touch her, and he followed her instruction eagerly. His thumb came up to rub at her little pearl, his fingers curling inside her, and under Belle's tutelage it was only a matter of time before she was tightening around his digits, her channel becoming a vice. She threw her head back, her face utterly rapturous in the glow of the candlelight. He'd never seen anything more beautiful in all his life and it was too much, the feel of her, the sight of her, the smell of her. He thrust against her, bucking wildly before he spilled himself inside his trousers at the same time Belle cried out, her body spasming on the altar of worship. 

In the aftermath, there was no sound but their heavy breathing in the still church. Gold's trousers were sticky, his hand covered in Belle's essence, dripping down his wrist and puddling on the floor before the altar. This was sacrilege what they'd done. It was profane. It was wonderful.

Belle wrapped her arms around Gold's neck, kissing his cheek, her nose butting against his ear. 

"I feel warmer now." 


End file.
